


golden boy

by caravaggiosbrushes



Category: The Terror (TV 2018), The Terror - Dan Simmons
Genre: Coming Untouched, Community: terrorkinkmeme, Dirty Talk, Domestic Bliss, Francis POV, Gay, Gay Sex, Kink Meme, M/M, Masturbation, NIpple stimulation, Nipple Licking, Nipple Piercings, Nipple Play, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Canon, Praise Kink, Slash, Smut, bisexual king francis crozier, kinda power bottom jfj at first but bottom-bottom in the end, love u bb, me filling bingo squares in dubious ways, messy sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:34:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28508277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caravaggiosbrushes/pseuds/caravaggiosbrushes
Summary: Francis noticed them once James had lost his shirt: two golden rings going through his nipples, glinting invitingly, contrasting with the darker skin of the areolas.-Fix-it fitzier pwp, written for theterrorkinkmemeprompt “i just want james having incredibly sensitive nipples and francis playing with them until he comes apart. that's all! +10 if it's in post canon setting where they are safe and have all the time in the world to explore each other's bodies. +100 if james comes from the nipple stimulation alone, and they're both shocked but incredibly turned on. +1000 p e i r c i n g s”and for my Bingo square“let it come”.
Relationships: Francis Crozier & James Fitzjames, Francis Crozier/James Fitzjames
Comments: 24
Kudos: 87
Collections: The Terror Bingo, The Terror Bingo (2020)





	golden boy

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I found [ this very interesting prompt ](https://terrorkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/396.html?thread=188812#cmt188812) that was calling my name, so I decided to give it a try. Hopefully the person who requested it is still interested lol it was the perfect excuse to write some smut :}
> 
> I’m also using this for [ my Bingo square ](https://i.ibb.co/b16wRQd/1609608410057.jpg) “ _**let it come** _”.
> 
> (thank you ewa for beta-reading this, you're the best!)
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> [ ](https://imgbb.com/)  
>    
> 

Francis first noticed them when he and James were standing in the same room in front of one another, undressing slowly, for the first time after coming back.

After having survived everything, both of them have learned to relish every single moment of this normal, boring life as the most precious one they'll ever get, especially the ones they share. 

They were slowly stripping of each and every piece of their respective clothings, gazes fixed on one another while their hands -all four of them shaking lightly,- opened buttons, pushed fabrics away, brushed over heated skin.

Francis noticed them once James had lost his shirt: two golden rings going through his nipples, glinting invitingly, contrasting with the darker skin of his areolas.

He was so shocked at the discovery that he couldn't form any word and after the initial hesitation there was no other chance for him to talk (his mouth occupied with James' tongue, James' fingers, James' prick) so he kept silent in the end.

In the following days (that feel hazy and wonderful, like the best dream he's ever had), Francis’ mind keeps wandering back to those tiny golden circles: did it hurt, getting them? Does it hurt now, when shirts and waistcoats rub over them, with everyday motions? And more so, _why_ has James got them in the first place? Has someone pushed him to do it or has he chosen freely to get them?

Francis can't stop obsessing over his finding, so when he and James are together again, both fully nude (and what a wonder that this is a possibility, now) he asks, a bit out of breath for how James is touching him, "Do they hurt?"

James lifts his face from Francis’ chest, where he was kissing him, with a quizzical look on his face. 

“What hurt?”

Francis feels his own face flush.

“Your— these.” He places his thumb next to one of his nipples.

James' face opens up in a playful smile. He pushes his chest in Francis’ hands, as in answer.

"No," he says in a low voice, "not at all. It actually feels very good when someone touches them." 

Francis swallows hard.

"Can I—"

"Yes."

He starts by kissing James, because that's where everything starts: his days, his thoughts, this second life he's been granted.

He kisses him with both hands on the side of his face, moving them in his once-again long hair and on his neck while James kisses back hard, hands clutched on Francis' shoulders, Francis' arms, his back.

"I thought you wanted to touch them." James smiles on his lips, pressing his body against him. "You won't hurt me, Francis. I assure you."

He can’t stop staring at his chest, at his perked nipples, pierced by those delicate golden rings. 

He has a lot of questions: was James wearing them during their Expedition? Does he know how they make him look even more beautiful, unique? Does he ever touch them, or does he forget they're even there?

He places a hand on James’ ribcage, this time grazing his fingertip over a nipple, gently, almost expecting James to jump back. He doesn’t move, just parts his lips with a soft sigh and touches Francis’ cheek gently, his touch grounding.

"How do they not hurt?" Francis asks, marvelling at the strangeness of it, touching both of them this time.

James’ breath falters a little.

“They just don’t." His gaze is fixed on Francis’ lips. “As if they are part of me."

The first time they've been naked together, Francis was so overwhelmed at having James that he didn't have the time to ask himself how to touch them, what to do with them: there were so many new things to savour already, that this one easily went in the background.

Now, however, now that he knows James actually wants this and he’s not going to change his mind and turn around, Francis can grant himself a moment to focus on the details. 

He presses both thumbs on James' nipples, stroking them carefully so that he can stop at any given sign of discomfort… Which never comes. Instead, James' breath becomes heavy and he tilts his head to kiss Francis hard, pushing his tongue into his mouth, shushing the beginning of a moan in the kiss.

“When did you get them?” Francis asks, thumbs circling James’ nipples gently.

“A few years ago.” James says in a low voice. He’s swaying a little back and forth in Francis’ arms, as if he couldn't stop himself from reaching back into his touch. “In India. But where I got them is not the interesting part of the story,” the tip of his nose grazes against Francis’, “you should ask me _why_ I got them, instead.”

“Why" Francis begins, then changes his mind on what he's about to say: "why are you telling me to ask you _why_ you got them?” 

(He loves to make James work for what he wants.)

“Because,” James smiles and suddenly flips them over, straddling Francis' lap, keeping him down with both hands on his shoulders, “if you would be so kind to just ask that, I would tell you that I got them after hearing an Indian girl telling her friend that these,” he takes both of Francis’ hands and places them on his chest, nipples picking right at the centre of his palms, “enhance your sensitivity during sex.”

He presses Francis’ hands on his chest and Francis clearly sees him taking a shuddering breath. James brings his own hands to Francis’ chest and starts grinding lightly in his lap, his prick almost completely hard by now. Francis stares at it but doesn't touch it and neither does James, as if it was just a minor discomfort, something that comes just after the attention Francis is giving to his chest.

“Was she right?” Francis asks, taking both nipples in between thumbs and index fingers.

James lets himself fall down on him, places his lips against his ear and whispers, “why don’t you find out for yourself?”

Francis' own prick twitches at that, his blood thick with arousal. He brushes his hands -palms, fingers and all,- on James' pierced nipples.

"Yes," James pushes himself up again. He looks a little wild like this, riding Francis' thigh with no real urgency in his movements, just languidly swaying in his lap, arching his back into Francis’ hands. He licks at his lips: "go on."

So Francis goes on: he swallows his own saliva and starts playing with James' nipples, hard like little buds under his fingers. James' eyelids flutter shut and he lets go of a deep, shaky breath.

"You like this." Francis says. “A lot.”

It's not a question.

James opens his eyes, his gaze liquid. He nods, shifting with more decision in Francis' lap. "Yes."

"What if I twist your pretty jewels? Would that feel good?"

James closes his eyes and hides his face against the side of Francis’ face, his nose buried in Francis' hair, his voice directly in his ear: "do it" he says, "do it, Francis, please."

Francis does it. 

He twists both golden circles lightly, to start. James' reaction is immediate and wonderful: the moan Francis tears out of him comes from deep within him, it lacks any form of self-control and it's the most arousing thing Francis has ever heard, without a doubt. So Francis twists the rings again, this time in the opposite direction, grazing his thumb over his nipples. 

James trembles in his arms. He’s biting at his bottom lip and swallowing every sound, his brows furrowed with the effort. 

“Do you like it? This?” Francis whispers against his cheek.

James nods with a jerk.

“Let me hear you.” Francis presses his thumb on his right nipple, rubbing over it with a more confident touch now that he knows James is more than alright with it. “I want to know what you like best.”

“Everything,” James says at once, gaze ardent. “All of this, Francis—” he kisses him hard, with a hand on his cheek, “it feels so good.”

“Good.” He licks at James’ bottom lip. “Why don't you let me use my mouth on them, hm?”

James shudders over him. " _Please_."

"Lay down for me, dear." 

He helps James on his back, taking his time to look at how gorgeous he is like this, splayed in the centre of Francis’ bed: his hair not so perfectly styled anymore, locks of it falling in front of his eyes, its waves flattened down where Francis has put his hands; there are marks on his neck where Francis has kissed and bitten down; James has no body hair on his chest and this, combined with his flat stomach, his pale skin, his long, elegant neck, and the way he’s distractingly cupping his pectoral with a hand, looking straight at Francis with heavy-lidded eyes, has Francis thinking about a woman— not _some_ woman: James _as_ a woman. Francis loves what he’s looking at, God only knows how much he does, this is absolutely perfect and he would never change a thing about it, but his mind goes on its own in that queer direction, overlapping James’ figure with a slighlty more feminine version of him.

“So beautiful.” Francis whispers, "I'm going to take care of you."

"A gentleman." James smiles playfully, but his cheeks and the bridge of his nose are rosy red, almost glowing in the late afternoon light. His chest rises under quick, short breaths. “I got so lucky."

_"I_ got lucky."

James stares at him for a moment, then brings him down for a kiss, long and deep.

"Touch me." He whispers on Francis' lips, so Francis kisses him again, just to hear him moan in frustration. “For Christ’s sake, Francis—”

“Yes, my dear.” He smiles, descending with little kisses across James' neck. “Do not fret.”

“I’m just impatient when it comes to your mouth, it seems.” He says, idly stroking his thumb on Francis’ bottom lip.

“Aren’t you always a bit impatient?”

“Only for the things I love.”

Francis kisses him for that. Then, he moves lower and closes his lips on one of James’ nipples. He barely laps at it and James' reaction is once again wonderfully rewarding: he gasps, his back arched just so, fingers twisting in Francis' short hair at the nape of his neck.

Sophia liked this too, Francis remembers it clearly; but her enjoyment with this lasted only so much and it was always a preamble for something else. James, on the other hand, seems to have no rush in moving forward and his pleasure in this is totalising. Could he like it even more than a woman does? Could his nipples be more sensitive to pleasure than a woman’s? If Francis is to judge from what he sees (James’ eyes half closed and unfocused; his cock, hard and leaking over his thigh; his constant sighs of “don't stop, don’t stop, more— Christ, _Francis—_ ”) he’d say yes: James’ pleasure seems to overcome a woman’s by miles and miles.

Francis keeps licking at it while caressing his other nipple, marvelling at how the cold metal of the rings slowly warms on James’ skin, who seems to like it more and more, his hands clutched tightly at Francis’ shoulders.

"Don't stop." He pants, chest raising heavily. "Please—”

He's interrupted by a gasp when Francis sucks that same nipple into his mouth. James squeezes his eyes shut, his entire body tenses up for one perfect moment. Then he gets almost wild: he keeps Francis’ face pressed against himself and says, "more," he says, "more, give me more, Francis, you _must—_ " 

So Francis grazes his teeth over that same nipple, making him writhe in his arms. James’ prick, pressed against Francis’ stomach, is leaking almost in time with his laps.

"My God, James." He pants on his skin, wet with his own saliva. "How can you feel so much just from this?"

“I don’t know.” James whimpers. “‘don’t know, I just— it feels so good.”

And then, since Francis has stopped touching him, James does something that threatens to fry Francis’ brain: he places both hands on his chest and teases his own nipples, his long fingers playing with the rings, twisting them not so gently.

For as much as he loves watching it (and he does, oh God) Francis has other plans.

"None of that, now.” He pushes his fingers in James’ sides, warning him. "Be a good boy. Put your hands under the pillow."

James licks his lips, cheeks flushed. “Only if you promise to not stop touching me until we've both finished."

"You have my word.” He seals the promise by licking a long strip of skin, pressing his tongue on his other nipple. James groans and lets his head fall down on the pillow; then, he brings both hands underneath it, grasping at it.

Now Francis can set to work on his goal, which is to make James lose his control in the most delicious way possible. So he licks, touches, twists and bites lightly at James' nipples, alternating between the two, rolling both rings up and down, licking around and on them, sucking them into his mouth (which is something that _always_ has James opening his legs wider and bucking his hips up, sighing “Oh, Francis,” rubbing his cock against Francis’ now stained shirt).

It seems like he’s succeeding more than well in his task: James has his eyes shut, brows pinched in the effort of keeping still (he’s miserably failing at it, constantly squirming on the bed, rumpling all the covers and bed sheets). 

Francis, for his part, is not in a better state: he too is shaking lightly for how aroused he is, his eyes and mind full of James. He hastily opens and pushes his pants and undergarments away, to free his straining cock. Once he has himself in hand, James stares at it with hungry eyes: his lips part and a moan escapes them without his control.

"Francis…" He begs, the muscles in his arms taut with tension.

“Yes.” Francis touches himself and brings his free hand on James, grazing his finger over his stomach, so close to the head of his cock, angry red and wet with a few drops of seed. He has to bite down at his own tongue not to devour him whole. “You’re close, aren’t you?” 

He moves his hand closer to James’ prick, but before he can touch him James jerks away, as if burned.

“No— _no_.” James shakes his head, his hair a mess on the pillow, locks of it sticking to his sweaty forehead. 

“No,” James says again. “Not there. I want what you were—” he blushes furiously, shaking his head in frustration, “don’t stop touching me _there_. You promised.”

Oh.

Francis kisses him hard, licking into his mouth, taking everything James wants to give him. 

He gets back to caressing James’ chest at once, with no such gentleness now that he knows how he likes it, pressing his fingers on his golden rings and squeezing his nipples in turn. James moans deeply, loose and warm, his head lolling to the side, gaze distant behind the fog of lust. Only his moans and groans of pleasure keep coming as forceful as before, if not more.

Francis kisses him everywhere on his chest, his neck, his mouth, marking him everywhere he can reach, ignoring his cock.

"Christ, James, this is…" He says on his lips. He doesn’t even know how to finish the sentence, can’t decide between _this is so much to experience and I’m not even the one experiencing it_ and _this is more than I have ever felt with another person_ and _this is everything I want for you._

James doesn’t answer, he seems incapable of words the more Francis plays with his pretty nipples, pushed to the edge as he is. He just moans a soft sound and licks at Francis’ lips, still with his hands under the pillow.

“You’re being so good for me.” Francis praises him, kissing the side of his neck while caressing both nipples. “Letting me touch your tits like this—”

James’ moan resonates in the room, is back arched in a sinuous line to seek more contact.

“Fuck, James.” Francis strokes himself viciously, dying to do the same for him, but keeping his promise not to touch his prick. So he renews his efforts on his nipples, dark and puffy now, definitely overstimulated. 

They should hurt by now, shouldn’t they? With how Francis has been torturing them with no pause, and yet James only seems to want this even more fiercely.

“Francis,” he pants, “your mouth, Francis. Please.” 

He’s on him at once, lapping at his rings. James whimpers weakly, squirming away from him and pushing his chest up at the same time, desperately looking for a relief that never comes, the pleasure too close to be pain by this point.

Francis would be concerned if only James wouldn’t have sounded so sure about wanting this: he knows James is close to the edge, it’s crystal clear; using his hands or mouth on his prick to bring him to closure would be the natural progression of things, it would be what Francis would do, but James has refused that in favour of having his chest tormented and who’s Francis to say no to such a perfect, filthy offer?

He gets back to work.

It’s literally only a few seconds of him kissing and sucking bruises on his chest, until James cries out, grasping at Francis’ abused pillow. 

“Francis.” He sobs, eyes shining with unshed tears. “I need to— touch you.”

“But you’re so pretty like this, obeying my every order.” He says, “you will use your hands once you’ve finished.”

James groans loudly.

“Fuck.” He squeezes his eyes shut, “I can’t like this.”

“You _can_.” Francis breathes on his nipple. (James bites down on his bottom lip.) 

“I know you can, you’re so close to it, I can almost see it.” Francis throws away every filter in between his mind and his speech, leaving the words flowing freely out of him while he strokes himself and kisses James' chest: “I can already see what you’re going to look like in a minute, soaked up in your own release. Do you think you’re going to get your tits dirty with it, too?”

James sobs and swears at this, “Fuck– Francis—too much.”

Francis ignores him.

“I think you will,” he kisses his collarbone, feeling James’ quick heartbeat under his tongue when he goes lower again, “and I’m going to clean you up, making you pretty and clean once again, ready for, mmh, my fingers, I think.” 

By this point James is sobbing at almost every single touch of Francis' mouth and fingers, his chest rising under short, heavy breaths.

“Hurts.” He whimpers, hiding his face against his bicep. “Just— fuck me.”

Francis has to close his eyes and take a deep breath not to do it. He wants it, God, he’s been dreaming of it day and night since that first time they’ve done it, but this— this is maddening hot. He has never seen James with this little control over himself and it’s like a drink on a torrid summer day: Francis wants more of it, wants to choke on it for how greedy he is, he wants to squeeze every drop of it out of James. 

He kisses his way up on his chest and neck, James a mess of his sweat and Francis’ spit.

“You can.” Francis says, kissing him under his ear. “Almost there, James, let me see how you come apart like this.”

James shakes his head desperately. His cheeks are bright red, his hair a complete mess. “Can’t,” he says in Francis’ hair. “Please just” he takes a shaky breath, “fuck me.” 

He doesn't say ‘no’, or ‘stop’.

Francis bites down on his neck and James arches up on the bed, his neglected cock bouncing against his stomach, leaking so much it almost looks like he has already finished, if it wasn’t for how hard and angry red it still is.

Francis wants to swallow it down and choke on it.

"Let it come, love, you're so close." He kisses a nipple, touching the other one.

James keens and shakes his head again. “Francis, please, I... can’t.”

He’s so far gone, but he’s _still_ holding onto Francis’ pillow.

"It's right there," Francis sucks hard at his nipple, and James keens, high and desperate, the heels of his feet planted on the bed to push his chest in Francis’ hands.

Francis squeezes both of his nipples in between thumbs and index fingers and James arches his neck violently to the side, breath stopping—

“Fra—ncis— I—” 

There’s a high pitched moan then, and James’ prick spurts a single rope of fluid on his tight stomach and ribs, before he cries out loudly, splashing his release all over himself. It keeps coming and coming and _coming_ , with so little control over his voice and movements, shaken by spams and trembles, that Francis can’t help but be in awe of it. Some of his seed reaches Francis' chin too. 

Francis is only half aware of saying something, or groaning it, more likely; he is focused on seeking relief tugging at his own cock with no gentleness and finishing in his own hand with his face buried in James’ chest, licking at one of James’ nipples, hard as a little pearl under his tongue.

James keeps sobbing even once he stops spasming in Francis’ arms, his breath heavy. 

When Francis finally has more presence of mind to move and looks up, he finds him a complete mess: cheeks streaked with tears, mouth bitten red, hair an absolute nonsense.

He’s still grasping at the pillow.

Francis has to kiss him, he just has to. So he does, and James barely responds to it, face slack with the overwhelming violence of his release.

He gets them both clean as quickly as he can, James wailing as if he’d just been abandoned forever when Francis gets to the basin to clean himself up and get a washcloth for him.

He squirms away from it when Francis passes it on his nipples and on his prick. It’s still a novelty, touching someone with a body so similar to his own, but he doesn’t indulge himself in caressing James now, because the man curls himself away from Francis’ hands, still too sensitive to be touched. 

“You can let go of it now.” Francis whispers, feeling a swell of affection for him.

James looks confused at him, so Francis kisses him on the tip of his nose and helps him relieve his grasp on the pillow. James lets him move him as he pleases and, as soon as Francis is in bed again, proceeds to tuck his face in his neck. He clenches and unclenches his fists to regain sensitivity in his fingers, similarly to what they used to do in King William Land when they started to lose sensitivity in their hands and feet. 

How deeply Francis’ life has changed from those days that seem both a week and a lifetime ago.

“Good God. You crazy man.” James lets go of a deep breath. He’s got his eyes closed, his face utterly relaxed. 

Francis holds him closer, but James moans in pain.

“Hurts, now.” He explains at Francis’ worried face, “It’s so strange. I couldn’t even think about having you stopping touching them and now I wouldn’t want anyone to touch them ever again.”

“Was I too rough with you?”

James huffs a laugh against his cheek and arches an eyebrow at him, “Did you not notice the utter mess you had me making?” He caresses Francis’ cheek, “You were perfect. It simply always happens after, but I’ve never— no one has ever given me such thorough attentions before, so this is new.”

“I couldn’t stop pushing you.” Francis says, with no effort in admitting it, “You were delicious to watch.” 

James purrs happily, kissing under his neck.

“And they really look pretty on you.” He adds.

James groans against his neck.

“Please, shut that mouth of yours, or we’ll have to do everything again.”

“And that would be a terrible inconvenience.” Francis feels the smile pulling at his face. 

There’s no way he’s going to do it all over again right now, and James either, but that doesn’t mean they can’t still play.

“Absolutely.” James says, his words slurred with tiredness. “Since you fucked me so well. I can’t move anymore.”

“Close your eyes, then.” Francis whispers, caressing his hair. “Rest.”

James closes his eyes.

“Mmh.” He mumbles. “Only if you’re going to make me breakfast when I wake up.”

“Such a spoiled child.” Francis chides him with a smile.

James smiles too, still with his eyes closed and Francis finds himself watching the comforting process of him falling asleep: his face relaxes, his lips part just a touch, his breath slows down.

“Of course I will.” Francis whispers, and, knowing very well how absolutely smitten he sounds, he adds: “Anything for you.”

James makes a soft sound, asleep in Francis’ arms, in Francis’ bed, in their house.

**Author's Note:**

> \- thank you [vdraws](https://twitter.com/vdrawsing/status/1347581415093915649?s=21) for the AMAZING ART, I am blown away and obsessed.   
> \- ”susan stop using the adjective ‘queer’ in your fics” challenge
> 
> \- happy new year (a bit late)!!!! may this year be filled with fitzier fics and wholesome headcanons! 
> 
> \- thank you for reading ♥ each and every one of your comments and kudos have Francis playing with James’ piercings some more 😎 
> 
> \- [RT](https://twitter.com/downeymore/status/1345449610307891201?s=20) \+ [reblog](https://caravaggiosbrushes.tumblr.com/post/639228646804094976/golden-boy-caravaggiosbrushes-the-terror-tv)!


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